There was a look in his eyes now which she did not like, a very intelligent and cruel look. She knew it well. It expressed almost blatantly the man’s ruthlessness. She did not inquire what the good turn was, but raised her glass slowly and drank. “Your hand trembles, my girl!” said Garstin. “Nonsense! It does not! Now please show me the portrait. I will not wait any longer.” “Here you are then!” He went over to a distant easel, pulled it forward with its back to them, then, when it was near to the sofa, turned it round. “There he is!” Miss Van Tuyn sat very still and gazed. After turning the easel Dick Garstin had gone to stand behind the sofa and her. She heard him making a little “t’p! t’p!” with his lips, getting rid, perhaps, of an adherent scrap of tobacco leaf. After what seemed to both of them a very long time she spoke. “I don’t believe it!” she said. “I don’t believe it!” “Like the man when he saw a giraffe for the first time? But he was wrong, my girl, for nature does turn out giraffes.” “No, Dick! It’s too bad!” Her cheeks were flaming with red. “Too bad! Don’t you think it’s well painted?” “Well painted? Of course it’s well--it’s magnificently painted!” He chuckled contentedly behind her. “Then what’s the matter? What’s the trouble?” “You know what’s the matter. You know quite well.” She turned sharply round on the sofa and faced him with angry eyes. “There was a great actor once whose portrait was painted by a great artist, an artist as great as you are. It was exhibited and then handed over to the actor. From that moment it disappeared. No one ever saw it. The actor never mentioned it. And yet it was a masterpiece. When the actor died a search was made for the portrait, and it was found hidden in an attic of his house. It had been slashed almost to pieces with a knife. Till to-day I could not understand such a deed as that--the killing of a masterpiece. But now I can understand it.” “He shall have it and put a knife through it if he likes. But”--he snapped out the word with sudden fierce emphasis--“_but_ I’ll exhibit it first.” “He’ll never let you!” Miss Van Tuyn almost cried out. “Won’t he? That was the bargain!” “He didn’t promise. I remember quite well all that was said. He didn’t promise.” “It was understood. I told him I should exhibit the picture and that afterwards I’d hand it over to him.” “When is he going to see it?” “Why do you ask? Do you want to be here when he does?” She did not answer. She was staring at the portrait, and now the hot colour had faded from her face. “If you do you can be here. I don’t mind.” “I don’t believe it,” she repeated slowly.